


while the city slumbers

by boltlightning



Category: The Hunchback of Notre Dame (1996)
Genre: F/M, Gen, Heart-to-Heart, Minor Injuries, Missing Scene, phoebus gets shot into a river and esmeralda realizes some things
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-29
Updated: 2020-01-29
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:14:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22469965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/boltlightning/pseuds/boltlightning
Summary: While Paris burns, Esmeralda pulls a traitor from his watery grave.(Or: how Esmeralda and Phoebus made their way to Notre Dame after Phoebus' impromptu dismissal.)
Relationships: Phoebus de Châteaupers/Esméralda | Esmeralda
Comments: 1
Kudos: 26





	while the city slumbers

As the hoofbeats of Frollo’s soldier disappear over the bridge, Esmeralda plunges herself into the Seine. In the icy winter waters, she cuts the traitor Captain Phoebus from his armor and drags him to shore, his magnificent navy cloak streaming in the water behind them.

They cough and splutter once they are back on solid ground. Esmeralda, struggling to catch her breath, immediately pushes Phoebus onto his back; the arrow that had knocked him off Frollo’s stolen horse and into the river had pierced his shoulder from behind. Though numb from cold, the wound is still raw, and Phoebus hisses from the pain.

She holds the hurt shoulder down and snaps the arrowhead off. Between raspy, heaving coughs, Phoebus manages to say, “Can you get this thing out of me? God in heaven, it hurts to breathe.”

“Not now, not while we’re in the open. You’ll bleed out before I can stitch you up.” Esmeralda feels the pain as though it is her own, a phantom ache in her shoulder. Phoebus sighs shakily and closes his eyes, but she gives him another gentle push. “Stay with me, now. We’re getting out of here.”

She wraps his cloak around her; it would dry from the heat of the flames in the city. Carefully, to not agitate his wound, Esmeralda pulls his good arm over her shoulders and hauls them both to their feet. Phoebus is heavy, well-built from long and many years wearing heavy armor; they lean against each other for balance with legs unsteady. They take tentative steps and move forward inch by agonizing inch.

“That was an impressive escape,” Esmeralda says, in an attempt to keep them distracted. The adrenaline is beginning to wear off, and she cannot afford to panic now. “I was certain you were dead, sinking like a rock with all that armor.”

He laughs, then winces. (She is privately glad he still has some humor in him.) “You are the queen of dramatic escapes; I’m glad I could impress. But…truly, thank you, Esmeralda. I am in your debt.”

Ex-Captain Phoebus places a hand to his chest as a sign of good will, but his palm brushes the broken arrow. He inhales sharply, withholding a shout of pain. Esmeralda slows her pace.

“Don’t push yourself,” she warns.

“I’ll do my best,” he answers hoarsely.

They have barely moved a few feet away from the shore, towards the line of trees outside Paris’ limits, when they hear hoofbeats slowly approaching them. Esmeralda’s breath catches in her throat — they cannot run, not in this state — but the horse that approaches is friendly. Djali, Esmeralda’s faithful goat companion, leads Phoebus’ gray stallion towards them.

Without an order, the horse canters to close the distance between himself and his rider. Gratefully, Esmeralda releases her tight grip on Phoebus, and he shifts his weight to lean against his horse’s sturdy shoulder. “Good boy, Achilles,” he murmurs, and Achilles blows hot air affectionately over his head.

Esmeralda kneels and scratches Djali behind his ear. He bleats quietly, appreciatively, but continues to eye Phoebus with caution. “Thank you, my friend,” she whispers, and places a kiss between his horns. “Now run ahead, find help. Go!”

Obediently and determinedly, Djali runs back towards the city. Phoebus catches his breath against Achilles’ flank, and looks to Esmeralda with tired eyes.

“Shall we?” she says, and he nods shortly. They set off into the night, as quietly as they can, with Achilles supporting Phoebus as they walk.

Paris burns in the distance, dark angled roofs against a sky turned red. Behind the dense layers of smoke, the moon still shines, a small glint of beauty beyond the horrors that away in the city square. Esmeralda’s thoughts turn to the events of the last hour, though it seems to have been days away. 

She sees Phoebus’ head on the chopping block, his soot-stained armor reflecting the light of the burning farmhouse behind them. He had saved the farmer’s family from a fiery demise, and they had wisely fled as soon as Minister Frollo’s attention turned away from them. She sees Phoebus’ sword, in the hands of his would-be executioner, and his bare neck mere feet away. A shudder runs through her, and she touches the back of her neck.

If Phoebus notices, he says nothing. Esmeralda pulls his cloak tighter around her, wet as it may be.

Phoebus had sprung into action the second her thrown stone hit Frollo’s horse, the instant an opportunity opened up. It is...well, it is what  _ she _ would have done, an instinct built from years of fending for herself on the streets. But she was not a soldier, nor trained to follow orders like him. He is a mystery, this Phoebus.

“They would have beheaded you,” she says into the silence. “Right then and there.”

“I’m well aware.”

“But you moved so fast at the first sign of a distraction, without even knowing it was me.”

“I had faith.” Phoebus’ smile is thin with pain. “I’ve seen death many times before, Esmeralda. I’ve learned to dodge it when I can.”

She does not respond immediately. Phoebus prompts, “What, no witty retort? No joke about how I’m old enough to have met Death?”

“It’ll come to me,” she says. Esmeralda considers her next words carefully. “Phoebus. You were so ready to die, as soon as you disobeyed Frollo’s orders. Why? You hardly knew the farmer...you hardly know  _ me. _ ”

In a faint voice, Phoebus says simply, “God help the outcasts, or nobody will.”

She is stunned into silence. From the corner of his eye, he meets her stare with a knowing look, but explains no more. Had he heard her plea that terrible day in the cathedral, before formally introducing himself? She is formulating a response, but sees Phoebus snap to attention. His hand reaches for a sword at his hip that is not there.

From the shadows, Djali emerges once again, this time with one of Clopin’s bruisers. Relief washes over Esmeralda, and she steps forward to greet them. Both goat and human cast disparaging glances at Phoebus. Phoebus, bleeding and deathly pale, manages a weak wave.

“Please, you can trust him,” Esmeralda says quickly. “He’s hurt and a fugitive now. I just need to get him somewhere safe, somewhere Frollo won’t think to look.”

The bruiser looks like he is going to object, but when he speaks, he says only, “Where to?”

_ Think, Esmeralda. _ She looks to the skyline, streaked red and gray. Notre Dame looms over them all, dark and foreboding with no light shining from its rose windows. It is dangerous, but at least it is not the Palace of Justice. And she knows a back way inside. “The cathedral,” she decides. “Quasimodo will hide him.”

The look Phoebus gives her is worried, almost nervous; the bruiser looks confused, disbelieving.

“He will,” she repeats, and hopes that he will. “I promise.”

Phoebus whispers some commands to Achilles, who gallops off down an alley. The soldier sways briefly on his feet before Esmeralda steadies him, one hand on his chest, the other steadying his waist. He had been shot off a horse and fallen three stories into the Seine, and still he stands with her. The thrum of his heart is strong beneath his cool, damp skin.

“Let’s get going, soldier boy,” she murmurs.

“I’m right with you.”

**Author's Note:**

> every few months i go into a fugue state where i cannot listen to anything besides the HoND 2015 musical soundtrack on repeat, and right now is one of those times. while i overall prefer the movie, i desperately love both interpretations...and i especially love how often stage!phoebus reprises esme's songs. thus, this was born.
> 
> now, if you'll excuse me, i have a soundtrack to listen to for the eighth time today.


End file.
